


Wednesday at the Gerys-Da Esoterica

by lovebeyondmeasure



Series: The Gerys-Da Esoterica Chronicles [2]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Beta Read, Gen, Minor Original Character(s), Not Britpicked, Shanker is a Cat, Small Business Owner Cormoran Strike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 03:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15787746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovebeyondmeasure/pseuds/lovebeyondmeasure
Summary: Britain has magic, Robin has a new job, and Cormoran's having areallybad morning. (Shanker still has some beef left over from yesterday.)





	Wednesday at the Gerys-Da Esoterica

**Author's Note:**

> I _meant_ for Tuesday to be a one-shot..... but it got so much love, and the world is so interesting, I just had to come back for more! I'll be exploring the world of the Gerys-Da off and on, so no guarantees for updates; each will be a standalone work. Follow the series if you're interested! And let me know what parts of it you want to see!
> 
> Much love and many thanks to everyone who leaves me kudos and comments. I know I don't respond very much, which makes each of those even more dear to me. I write for myself, but I share it for you. Thank you all for making it so very worth it <3
> 
> And, as ever, my fannish heart belongs to lindmea and bethanyactually, who midwife these fics to birth. I couldn't do it without you, ladies.
> 
> One final reminder: this is not a Harry Potter AU. I might, one day, write one, but Cormoran and Robin have other shapes and spaces in my mind. This universe and its mechanics are entirely my own. On with the fic!

Cormoran’s first thought upon waking up was,  _ Christ, I need a smoke,  _ closely followed by,  _ fuck, my mouth tastes like Shanker took a shit in it. _

Once he’d hauled himself upright, though, the angle of the sun hit him smack in the face, and he realized he’d slept through his alarm. Oh well, sometimes it-

_ Fuck! She’s starting today!  _

The clock reported it was nearly half-past eight, and he groped for a clean pair of trousers while frantically pulling on his leg. The articulated joints were creaky, and he resolved to oil it and renew its enchantments,  _ after he made it to the shop and apologized to his new employee. _

Christ, what a cock-up. So much for making a good start with his beautiful new assistant manager. He buttoned his shirt, still half-asleep, and gave up entirely on his hair, which looked as though griffins had been nesting in it. 

Cormoran was out the door five minutes after waking up, which might be a new record. Thankfully it was only two blocks to the shop, and he dodged a hipster on a moped with a curse as he salivated over the smell of coffee wafting from the Starbucks on the corner. 

_ Shitty and overpriced,  _ he reminded himself.  _ Not worth it.  _

Robin was standing outside the shop, staring up at the sign. Cormoran felt more out of shape than usual beside her, tall and slim as she was, the feeling compounded by the way his heart was frantically beating.

“Sorry-” he gasped out, trying to regulate his breathing. “Sorry’m late, alarm didn’t go off.”

“Do you have any gold powder in stock?” Robin asked.

“What?”

“Sorry, good morning to you too. It’s quite alright, my Tube stop was shut down so I had to walk to the next, I’ve only been here ten minutes or so. Your sign, it needs some attention. Do you have gold dust on hand? Pyrite would work, but won’t last as long.”

“Let me check,” Cormoran said, fumbling the key into the lock, taken off guard by the lack of recrimination. Charlotte would have been incensed- 

But of course this was not Charlotte. He shook his head, feeling half-asleep still, and managed the lighting cantrip. 

“You’re late,” Shanker said accusingly, perched on the counter with his tail lashing. Ah, there was the recrimination that had been missing. 

“Good morning,  _ monsieur chat, _ ” Robin said brightly. “Have you finished your meat already?”

“No, there’s some in the fridge still,” Cormoran said. “I’ll get it while I brew some coffee.”

“Oh, let me,” Robin said. “You ought to get the shop ready for the day, I’ll take care of that.”

She was an angel and hiring her was the best thing he’d ever done. “Thanks, yeah, round the back, kitchenette on the left. Coffee’s, ah…”

“I’ll find it,” she said, setting off with an orange tabby streak at her heels. 

“Bloody Christ,” he muttered. “I’ve only been awake for twenty minutes.”

It took him an extra ten minutes to count the till, which he did mainly out of habit. Satisfied that every last pound was in order, he began to pace his morning check of the shop. The herbs looked alright for once, but he really needed to make sure the dried ingredients were still fresh and potent in their canisters. And it was nearly time to restock the bone powders. And they were running low on crystals. And, and, and….

“Coffee,” Robin said, appearing around the corner with a mug in her hands. “Hot and black.”

“Bless,” Cormoran said, taking it and immediately pouring half of it down his throat. 

Robin laughed. “You look like someone cursed your pillow. Rough night?”

Clutching his coffee, he wondered for a split second how she might react to the truth-  _ I kept dreaming about my leg being blown off so I drank myself unconscious-  _ but of course he couldn’t say that.

“You could call it that,” he said, taking another long drought. “Thank you for this.”

“It’s no problem,” she said. “I’m, ah--what would you like me to start with?”

Cormoran rubbed his forehead. Hiring her had been the right thing to do, he’d been sure of it, but he wasn’t prepared to actually start training her. How did one train a new employee? Ah, bloody hell.

Shanker chose that moment to butt into the conversation, and Cormoran had never felt so grateful for his familiar’s insistence on being at the center of everything always.

“Oughta start with a tour,” Shanker said. “Back rooms, upstairs n’all.”

“Right, yes,” Cormoran said. “Good. Thank you.”

Shanker turned towards the front of the shop.

“What, don’t you want to show her about?” Cormoran asked, watching Shanker casually stroll away.

“Who, me?” Shanker yawned. “I can’t open doors, remember? Besides, you’re the boss. I’m the former assistant manager. You do it.”

“Sorry I stole your job, Shanker!” Robin called after him, grinning. 

He flicked his tail at her, somehow conveying amusement. Cormoran snorted and downed the last of his coffee, the runes etched into the mug keeping it at just the right temperature down to the last drop. 

“Well, he’ll mind the front and yell for us if need be. We don’t normally open until nine, though, so it should be all right.”

“It’s just nine now, actually,” Robin said helpfully, then winced at Cormoran’s expression. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, waving a hand vaguely. “We won’t be long, not much upstairs really.”

He led her to the back once more. “You’ve found the kitchenette already, you’re welcome to use the fridge and microwave and everything. Uh, the petty cash is in a shortbread tin. It’s not labelled, but you’ll, uh, you’ll find it.”

He had never had to give a tour of the shop, and felt he had gotten off a rather poor start. Robin, though, simply nodded, eyes bouncing about as though committing it all to memory.

“So, this door here takes you out towards the back alley and this is the receiving space, where we take deliveries and such. You can hang your coat and such back here, if you need to. And the door on the left is the loo.”

He said this very baldly, with no energy in him to filter for propriety’s sake, but Robin didn’t seem to care. “And the right-hand door?”

“That’s the greenhouse. Well, green-room, more like.” Cormoran opened the door, letting the scent of damp rich earth wash out over them. In some ways, he viewed the small space as a sanctuary of sorts; in his time as proprietor of the Gerys-Da, no one else had come in, not even Charlotte. Shanker wandered in occasionally, but he hardly counted, being both Cormoran’s familiar and also a cat.

Robin’s face was caught in a look of delight; she stepped forward cautiously, gazing at the room with the appropriate amount of awe, to his mind. It endeared her to him immensely. 

“It’s lovely,” she said, standing just inside the doorway. “You have quite a green thumb, Mr. Strike.”

“I’m no earthwitch, but I do my best,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I thought we were done with the Mister business.” He might have stood by it as a way to keep a good solid professional distance between them, seeing as how she was a really very attractive girl and he was, if he was being honest, a very lonely man. But there was something about her that spoke keenly to him of being a person he could rely upon, could trust, and he had precious few of those in his life at the moment. He saw no reason not to cultivate it.

“Sorry,  _ Cormoran,”  _ she said, turning to smile over her shoulder at him. “It’s a perfect workroom, I won’t intrude.”

“I might need you to look after the plants sometimes,” he said, not sure if he was warning or asking. 

“Of course,” Robin replied. “But the green-room- it- hm. It  _ smells  _ of you, of your magic,” she said, rubbing one arm, searching for words. “It feels like my mum’s sewing room. You don’t intrude in a magician’s private workroom, whatever shape it takes.”

He’d never before thought of the greenhouse room as his  _ workroom,  _ but it didn’t sound…. wrong. He did, in fact, often retreat there to work through magical problems, when he encountered them. He’d thought it was simply because he found the space relaxing, but… 

“Well, let me show you the upstairs,” he said, filing that line of thought away for further study. 

“You know, this building obviously has more floors,” Robin said as she followed him back into the main room, “but I never once considered what was up there. I suppose I thought that you must live up there, but that’s clearly not the case.”

Considering his tardiness, it was not a difficult observation to make. 

“It used to be living quarters, back when the store first opened,” he said, taking out his keyring. “But it’s not up to code anymore, because of the buildup of magical residue over the years. Ah, there we go.”

He tapped the old-fashioned brass skeleton key against the smooth doorknob-plate, and enjoyed the surprise on Robin’s face as an audible  _ click  _ came from the mechanism.

“That’s a lovely piece of enchantment,” she said, staring at it. “Is there only one key?”

“Right now there is,” he said, finally beginning to feel like he was awake and functioning. “But I can have another made for you. Really, I ought to have a spare anyway, just in case.”

She nodded, following him up the staircase. Because of the way the door faced the back of the building, the jutting piece of wall looked like nothing so much as a broom closet; if you didn’t know the door was there, and where it led, it would be nigh-impossible to find a way to the second level at all.

The twisting, narrow stairs were not his favorite to traverse, and he wished he’d let her go first. He felt like a lumbering elephant, with Robin trapped behind. But it was really only a single flight, and he came out to the second floor with relief. 

“Here’s the main part of it,” he said, moving aside and gesturing vaguely. “Not much to look at, I’m afraid. I don’t come up here as much as I should.”

He felt obscurely ashamed of the shabbiness of the large space. It was, at least, tidy. The crates were stored neatly on shelves, each labeled meticulously to mark the goods contained within; the desk and work-table had only a scattering of papers, some pens, a forgotten mortar and pestle. No more messy than any other working space.

But the table was heavy, old, and scarred, as was the desk; there was a thin layer of dust over everything.  _ It’s a workroom, of course there’s dust,  _ he told himself. But he wished he’d taken some time to make it look nicer, anyway. 

“It’s a good workroom,” Robin said, beginning to walk around. He’d hung bunches of herbs to dry by the windows, which she trailed her fingers over. “So open. You don’t see that much, in buildings this old. Were all the buildings along here designed like this?”

“Yeah, the whole idea of these shops were that the owner would live up and work downstairs. It’s like this all down the block. Most have been converted into other things by now, more shops and boutiques and such. There’s the full-size kitchen up here, and bedrooms up on the third floor.”

“There’s a third floor! What’s up there now?”

Cormoran scratched the back of his neck. “Some odds and ends. Stuff from the last owner. Storage, mostly.”

She looked baffled at this waste of perfectly serviceable real estate, which meant she knew how dear square footage could be in London.

“It’s, y’know, with the leg,” he started to say in a faintly strangled tone, at which Robin cut him off. He was relieved to not have to find an end to that sentence.

“Of course,” she said, then changed the subject, grabbing the first thing that caught her eye: "Why are the bottoms of the doors all scratched up?"

Cormoran sighed heavily. "Shanker doesn't like doors."

Robin nodded, clearly bewildered. “Is it… all doors, or these in particular, or…?”

“What he really hates is a  _ closed  _ door,” Cormoran clarified. “He always wants to know what’s on the other side. It's almost pathological, actually. He'll just claw at them until I open them for him. If I ignore him, he moves up to slamming himself against them bodily. It's... it's something."

Robin had unconsciously covered her mouth with her hand, picturing this. “Does he say why?”

“He says he’s a cat and cats are inscrutable. I think he just likes making trouble.”

Cormoran shook his head, feeling cheered by the memory of Shanker running at the door to the stairs only to meet no resistance when Cormoran opened it. He’d tumbled arse over teakettle, right smack into the wall. It was a  _ good _ memory. 

“Anyway, pay no mind to the scratches. I use this area as an office and workroom, obviously. You’re welcome to work up here as well.” An idea occurred to him, and he seized upon it. “Are you any good with administration, paperwork, that sort of thing?”

“Sure,” Robin said readily. “I actually worked as a temp for a while, when I first moved to London, until Matthew asked if I could be his assistant anyway. It was- well, he was thinking of hiring someone, and since my income wasn’t steady, it just made sense-”

She clamped her mouth shut, clearly unwilling to follow that thread to its conclusion. Cormoran was fine with that; the less he knew of her home life with that- with Matthew, the better. 

“That is to say, I’ve got lots of experience with correspondence, bills, spreadsheets, all that sort of thing.”

“Good, I’ll have you start with that,” Cormoran said, relieved to have a task to set her to. “I’ve been putting it all off for too long. I’ll write the computer password down, for you, and it should all be here- is that alright?”

Robin was already moving papers about, paging through the pile of unopened bills. “I’ll be fine up here, Mr- Cormoran.” She dimpled at him over her shoulder, and he was struck by how pleased she was to be doing this, his least favorite task.

“Brilliant, I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” he said. He needed more coffee, and a smoke, as soon as possible.

He managed to get all the way to the coffee pot before Shanker accosted him.

“The fuck is wrong with you today?” Shanker asked, his tail switching about irritably from his perch on the countertop. “You look like a contraception charm after Coachella.”

Cormoran, about to pour more of god’s own brew into his aching body, paused. “What in God’s grey hell is a  _ Coachella?” _

“Never mind,” Shanker said, rolling his eyes. 

Cormoran shrugged. “Nothing wrong that coffee and a smoke won’t fix, Shanks, don’t get your tail in knot.”

“Don’t get my- Bunsen, what’s your  _ plan  _ with all this?”

“I don’t know,” Cormoran sighed, rubbing his temple. He hadn’t thought today could be worse than yesterday, but it was an inauspicious start, to say the least. Well, at least there hadn’t been any frogs yet.

“You don’t know _ \-  _ go smoke a cig, Bunsen, before I find somewhere to sink these teeth,” Shanker said, leaping down to stalk towards the front. 

“Hiring her was your idea!” Cormoran called after him. He didn’t get an answer, but he hadn’t expected one. Digging through his pockets, he wished fervently he had a plan. All he had was a pile of debt, a new assistant manager whose last name he  _ still  _ didn’t know, and two cigs in a crumpled packet.

Standing on the back step, he flicked his fingers to light the cigarette, and drew a deep lungful in. Fuck. 

What had possessed him to hire a woman without an interview, with no idea of her qualifications, no discussion of pay or hours or anything, just like that? He exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate into sky. It had seemed like such a good idea less than 24 hours ago. She’d seemed like a sure thing, the answer to his prayers. 

How was he going to pay her? He took another pull, closing his eyes. His margins were practically razor-thin as it was, without paying her wages. Which she would of course soon know, seeing as he’d set her to straighten out the books. 

“Well, this is a right cockup,” he said out loud, ashing his cigarette.

A nearby sparrow hopped closer, tilting its bright eyes inquisitively at him. He shook his head at the little thing.

“Nothing for you here, I’m afraid,” he said gravely. “And don’t come too close, or Shanker’ll get you.”

The little bird took flight as though the mention of the cat had scared it off.

Perhaps she’d see he had no money for her, and she’d quit. That at least would solve the problem of paying her, he thought sourly. Though he’d thought about hiring someone else for a few months now, on and off. Being in the shop nearly every day took a toll on him, and he couldn’t keep it up forever. Charlotte had hated it, hated how he sank himself into the shop, every day, every week, hated how it took his attention off of her-

His cigarette had nearly gone out, and he re-lit it irritably. No use dwelling on it, he told himself. That cauldron had already been spilt.

Inside, he heard his name, and sighed. Taking one last drag from the cig before extinguishing it with his heel, he went back inside. 

Robin was just coming down the stairs, and Cormoran could see why Shanker had called for them both. It was Wednesday, so of course. Of  _ course.  _

“Mrs. Spillman,” he said, moving out from the back. “What can I do for you?”

The diminutive woman came right up to the counter and began speaking. Cormoran allotted a small portion of his attention to remembering what she was saying, but as usual it was a mix of neighborhood gossip, complaints, and the minutia of her life. Eventually she would get around to ordering some supplies; until then, he could only wait her out. 

Unprompted, Robin went over to the young couple who’d come in behind Mrs. Spillman.

“G’morning, welcome to the Gerys-Da,” she said, smiling brightly. “Looking for anything in particular today?”

Cormoran nodded along as Mrs. Spillman continued enumerating the reasons she disliked the food trucks that congregated at the end of the block; from what he could tell, her main complaint was that the men who owned and operated them were not white. He tuned his ear to Robin, who had been thrown directly into the deep end of things. 

“-so anyway, we thought we’d try our own hand at it, because well, why not?” the girl was saying, Robin listening intently.

“That’s very admirable of you. Have either of you ever brewed concentration potions before?”

“I did, back in sixth form,” the young man offered. “They gave us a weak formula, though, coz they said they’re afraid of us abusing it.”

“And that’s a fair point,” Robin said. “It’s easy to take too much, especially when you’re working hard at something, like uni?”

They nodded, and Cormoran was impressed. She was handling herself quite well, for someone with no retail experience. 

“The first question for concentration brews, of course, is whether you’re planning to try a European, African, South-Asian or Chinese recipe. There are different advantages to each, but-” Robin stopped, considering. “European is probably the place to start. You’ll be more familiar with the ingredients and process.”

“This is great, babe,” the young woman said up to the young man. “Isn’t this better than just ordering off Amazon?”

Robin smiled at them. “The internet can’t help like your local shop can,” she said cheerfully. “If you come over here, we’ve got fresh herbs, grown in-house-”

They went around one of the cases, so he couldn’t hear them clearly or read their lips. But Mrs. Spillman was nearly reaching the point, so Cormoran turned his attention back to her.

“I might eat there if I could trust the meat,” she was saying, and he sighed. She was one of his regular customers, but she was deeply unpleasant and he wished he could do without her business.

“Mmmm. What can I do for you today?” he prompted, hoping to get to the part of her monologue where she actually spent money.

“Oh, well, you see I’ve been working for the past weeks on this lovely gown, and I’ve come to a real fork in the road-” She launched into a speech about the trials and travails of preparing a niece’s wedding gown, and how difficult it was to get magic to stick to modern satin, and he returned to making thoughtful noises. Mrs. Spillman couldn’t be rushed. 

Robin led the pair of potion-brewing customers around to another case. “You really do need to make sure you’ve got your proportions right,” she was saying. “What might work for one body’s chemistry might be totally wrong for another, so don’t rush things. You’ve got to take it slow. Here’s our selection of powders, bone powders on the left and rocks and minerals on the right. If you prefer to grind your own fresh, we have whole items in the jars up top, just ask.”

They nodded and thanked her, and she backed away. Shanker was behind her on a shelf, and she leaned over.

“How was that?”

He rubbed his head up against her arm, and Cormoran couldn’t read his lips but knew she was being complimented by the way she smiled.

“So you’ll be needing fresh honey, ground moonstone, catmint, and dandelion root,” he said, as Mrs. Spillman finished her litany of woe.

“Just so. You’re so good at these things,” she said, not in a complimentary way, but as a superior to a serviceworker. He grimaced and hoped it looked like a smile.

“Robin?”

She came over promptly, standing a bit behind the customer.

“Could you get Mrs. Spillman some fresh catmint and dandelion root? Quarter-pound of each, I should think.”

Mrs. Spillman nodded. “Any more and they’ll go off before I can use them. They’re best fresh, you know.”

Robin nodded, giving him a wide-eyed look before going off to measure. He knew she could do that, because she’d always handled it herself as a customer; he remembered admiring her exactitude. She wasn’t one to over-fill then complain he’d over-charged. It was one of the reasons he’d liked her.

“Let me get your honey. Do you have any preferences?” he asked on his way over to the corner case.

“Not wildflower, if you can help it. Too unpredictable for me,” she said.

Of course. Only the purest for Mrs. Spillman. He selected a jar of lavender honey from the shelf and sighed over the dwindling stock. How he was going to afford a full restock, he’d have to figure out.

“Pure lavender honey, and I’ll have your moonstone powder up shortly. Appreciate your patience.” The young couple was still at the powders, debation on the relative advantages of rose quartz versus pure quartz.

“You’re a good lad,” Mrs. Spillman said. “Back when old Maddern owned the shop, he’d always tell me I nattered on too long.”

Cormoran managed another grimace as Robin came alongside him, behind the counter. “Here’s your dandelion root and catmint,” she said, smiling. “Fresh as fresh can be.”

“And you’re a pretty lass,” Mrs. Spillman said, arching one pencilled-on brow expressively. “Who’s this?”

“This is Robin, my new assistant manager,” Cormoran said, and for the first time it felt true. He’d hired her, and she was here now; no going back.

“Pleasure,” Robin said, gently grasping Mrs. Spillman’s proffered hand. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Six ounces of ground moonstone, if you would,” he said, and she slipped away again.

“She’s lovely,” Mrs. Spillman said. “New?”

“Today’s her first day,” Cormoran said, watching and Robin gently shepherded the young couple out of the way so she could neatly begin scooping moonstone onto the scale. 

“I like her,” Mrs. Spillman pronounced. “This place needs a woman’s touch.”

“Yes, I’m very pleased with her so far,” he said through only slightly-gritted teeth.

“I’m sure you are,” Mrs. Spillman said. “Oh, thank you, dear.” She accepted the brown paper twist of moonstone powder with a gracious air.

Cormoran rang her up as she went on about how thrilled she was to be able to come in to a real shop and purchase ingredients from real people. Despite the fact that he had often had similar thoughts himself, Cormoran felt as though she were arrogant, bragging about how out-of-touch with society and technology she remained.

“Here’s your change,” he said, and she waved it away. 

“I don’t need it. Put it towards a new sign, there’s a lad.”

He wrapped his fingers around the 47 pence and resisted the urge to throw it.

“See you next week!” she called as she sailed out the front door. Cormoran heaved a sigh of relief. She always came on Wednesdays. Today had been a short visit, not even an hour. 

The young couple approached him finally, setting several bags and paper twists on the counter.

“All set, then?” he asked, opening a paper packet to see what to charge them for.

“Oh yes,” the young woman said. “This place is wonderful! And Robin’s been so helpful!” Her young man nodded, scrolling on his phone. “We’ll definitely be coming back, won’t we, Joel?”

“Yeah,” he said. “For sure.”

Cormoran didn’t let his feelings about the lack of eye contact show, and rang them up for an impressive total.

“Not cheap, is it?” Joel said, clearly trying to make a point.

“No,” she shot back, handing Cormoran her credit card. “But this time we know for sure that the rat-bone powder is actually rat and not mouse, so it’s worth it from where I’m paying.”

Joel’s face indicated this was a direct hit, and Cormoran couldn’t help a bit of a laugh from escaping.

“Oh, you should’ve seen it,” she said conspiratorially. “It went up blue instead of mauve, and when he tried it on the test subject- fwoom!” She indicated a small explosion with her hands. Joel looked up at the ceiling as if hoping for respite.

“We only have verified ingredients here,” Cormoran said. “So you should be safe from that, at least.”

“And you have no idea how reassuring that is,” she said. “Especially since he’s actually planning to drink this one.”

Cormoran nodded, smiling properly for the first time. “Would you like a bag?” He still had a few left under the counter.

“Oh no, I’m alright,” she replied, pulling a canvas bag from her tote and shoving her purchases in. “Joel, you carry it.”

“Have a nice day,” Cormoran said as the pair traipsed towards the door.

“Good luck with your brewing!” Robin called as they passed her. They waved as they exited.

“Well that was trial by fire,” Shanker said. “Robin, you were brilliant. Oh, to the left, just a-  _ ahhhh.”  _

Cormoran had thought Shanker was suspiciously quiet. Now he knew why: it had been a test, and Robin had passed.

“You did very well,” Cormoran said, and was rewarded by a brilliant smile. “We really threw you right into it.”

“Well, it helped a lot that I knew where things were,” she said. “So I didn’t look foolish searching about. And I’ve brewed my fair share of concentration potions, too.”

“I could tell,” Cormoran said. “It was impressive.”

She pinked up at this praise, and she really was quite attractive-

_ Get off it, you fool,  _ he told himself.  _ Not the time, not the place, and not the person for that.  _ “Well,” he sighed. “At least we’ve broken even for the day already, and it’s not even noon yet. That bodes well.”

“Maybe Robin’s our lucky charm,” Shanker offered. 

Well, Cormoran didn’t think he’d have been able to talk the young couple into buying quite so many ingredients, but he wasn’t about to say that. He didn’t want to give Robin the wrong impression. 

“Let’s hope it continues on like this,” he said. “In the meantime, we ought to get everything officially sorted out.”

Robin’s face twisted, and he knew that she’d seen the state of the shop’s financials. She knew he could hardly afford to pay the bills at the end of most months. And hadn’t he just been wishing that she would see it and quit on her own volition? 

But no. He’d seen her in action, both as a magician and as a saleswoman, and she had impressed him on both fronts. Unqualified she might be, but if he was going to hire anyone, he wanted it to be her.

“What’s your last name?” he asked, apropos of nothing.

“What?” Robin’s eyebrows flew up. “It’s Ellacott. Robin Ellacott. Why?”

“I realized just now that I didn’t know,” he said. 

“It’s just like you, Bunsen, to go hiring women whose names you don’t know,” Shanker said. 

“No, it’s more like you,” Cormoran retorted. “But hiring Robin was your idea, so it makes sense.”

“And it was a great idea,” Shanker sniffed. “No need to get brassed off about it.”

“It  _ was  _ a good idea,” Cormoran agreed. “Robin, come round the back with me? Shanker can mind the shop for a bit.”

“Oh sure, leave the cat to do all the work,” Shanker muttered loudly as she followed him to the kitchenette. “NOT LIKE YOU REFUSE TO BUY ME BEEF, OR ANYTHING!”

“Ignore him, he’s got his tail in a knot about being demoted,” Cormoran said. “Not that he’d ever admit it, and it was his idea. But cats are touchy about hierarchies.”

“I’ll bring him more beef,” Robin said, taking a seat at the tiny table. Cormoran took the other chair, across from her.

“If you bring him meat every day, he’ll throw me over and be your familiar,” Cormoran joked. 

Robin looked horrified. “Oh, no, that’s not what I-”

He waved a hand. “It’s not like that, familiars can’t- forget it. We need to talk business.”

Robin’s face again went through a series of expressions, so fleeting as to be indecipherable. “I’ve been looking at your bills, and your books,” she said. “I don’t- it’s- how are you planning to afford my wages?”

Cormoran could feel her discomfort as plainly as if she’d written him a note outlining it. He was hardly having a good time either.

“It’s not about being able to afford you now, as much as it is not being able to go without a second pair of hands for much longer,” he began. “Shanker can do a lot, and I called him assistant manager, and he certainly knows nearly as much as I do about how to run this shop. But he’s not- he’s not  _ human,  _ and I’m only one person. If I have you to keep the shop open for longer hours, and helping me to do more, then the shop can  _ become  _ more profitable, is my hope.”

It felt strange, to lay this out bare for a near-stranger. But he saw no way around it; she would leave rather than push him into bankruptcy, and he knew that spectre loomed only a few months distant, at the rate he was going. Hiring Robin would either usher it in, or keep it at bay, and it was a coin he was willing to flip at this point. 

“That… makes sense,” Robin said, and he could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. “Alright. I’d like…” She trailed off, then bit her lip and looked him square in the eye. “I’d like to help, if I can. I don’t have much experience working in a shop, beyond helping my mum sell her goods at fairs and such. But I like this place, and it should stay open. There’s not enough good, reliable shops like this one left.”

“Thank you,” he said, taken off guard by this declaration of allegiance. “I think that with your background in spellbuilding, you’ll do fine. A lot of what I end up doing for customers is helping them figure out what they actually need, versus what they think they came in for. You wouldn’t believe the number of people who think all they need is some fresh lavender and rose petals and they’re going to make a love potion.”

Robin snorted; Cormoran couldn’t stop his smile. He didn’t know what he’d done to find an assistant like Robin, but she was going to work out just fine. 

“I can’t pay you more than seven an hour,” he said. “But if the shop starts doing better, we can revisit that number.”

She nodded. “That’s fine, especially-” She blushed, but forged on. “Knowing what the finances look like, that’s fine.”

“And what hours are you available?”

These were all things he should have discussed with her before hiring her, of course. But better late than never.

“I can be in… well, I’d rather not work evenings, and I can’t work every weekend, but I’m often available,” she said, twirling a bit of her blonde hair between her fingers. “So If I had a choice, I’d rather do opening shift, and trade off weekends.”

Cormoran could have wept, if he were the weeping sort. “I can do evenings, no problem. And it’s better for me to close up, anyway. It’s not a bad area, but it’s not the place to be alone at night.”

Robin nodded, but he saw her jaw shift, as though she’d been about to say something. She let the point lie, though.

“And what about training?” she asked. “I know where a lot of the- the stock items are, but I’ll need help learning the to work the till, how to open properly, all that.”

“I can work your shifts with you for a few weeks,” he offered. “It’s not worse than the hours I’ve been working, and it’ll be easier with two. Introduce you to all the regulars, show you how to do shipment, all that sort of thing. Plus, you’ll have Shanker around, he can tell you how to do things as well.”

“That’s true,” she said. “But I- well, it’s embarrassing, to be told how to do my job by a cat, isn’t it? At least not in front of the customers, it would hardly inspire confidence.”

Again he laughed. “Point to you, yeah. Alright, a fortnight or so of training, then we’ll split into morning and evening shifts, and figure out weekends. Fair enough?”

Robin smiled, and extended her hand. He took it, giving it a firm shake, and squeezed it gently before releasing it.

“In that case, Robin Ellacott, welcome aboard the Gerys-Da.”

“Happy to be here,” she replied, looking pleased. “Oh, that reminds me! Do you- do we have gold dust in stock?”

“Some, but not a lot,” he said. “Is this about the sign out front?”

“Mm, yeah, I was thinking about it earlier,” Robin said, looking bright. “Pyrite, do we have pyrite? Won’t last as long, but should have a similar enough effect for now.”

“Sure, I’ve got pyrite,” Cormoran said, rising from the seat. “Not as popular as gold, of course, so it doesn’t sell as fast.”

“I learned this charm from one of my da’s friends, back home,” Robin said, following him out to the shop. “He owns sheep- my da, I mean- and his friend taught us how to do a charm that makes any kind of powder stick to a sheep, right where you want it. He used to make patterns and such on them, for fun.”

Cormoran rummaged through the cabinet, listening as Robin spoke. She was excited, gesturing with her hands.

“It’s not the longest-lasting charm, of course, and it’s reversible at any time, or my mum would murder my da for ruining the fleeces, but it’s waterproof and sheep-proof and I think it ought to work on the sign.”

He handed Robin the entire jar of ground pyrite, which was one of the cheaper ingredients on the shelf. “Go on, then,” he said. “Do what you can, it can’t be worse than what I’ve got now.”

Shanker came up behind her. “Are you going to fix the sign?” he asked with interest. “Good, I’m tired of telling people to find their porn elsewhere.”

Robin caught Cormoran’s eye, covering her shocked smile with her free hand. He could only roll his eyes as Shanker’s crassness.

“Ignore that cat,” he told he. “Just do what you can.”

She nodded, taking the jar out the door, Shanker on her heels. Cormoran came to the front of the shop to watch through the window, not wanting to pressure her unduly but very interested to see what she had in mind.

Uncorking the jar and putting it between her feet, Robin squinted up at the faded lettering. “Ge ys a E ot ica” glimmered sadly down at her, and she bit her lip in concentration. 

Bending down to smudge a bit of the pyrite between her fingers, Robin mouthed the nonsense-syllables of the charm silently. It had been a while since she’d done this, and she had an audience, which was not how she preferred to work. But she felt a deep need to prove herself a worthy contributor to this shabby little shop and its odd proprietor, so she would do her best.

Carefully, Robin formed shapes with her fingers, a figure-eight, a twist, a pull, a flick. As she did so, she chanted, “Flocking, walking, sheep roam free, flocking, walking, sheep show me,” focusing very hard on the letter she wanted to form. She repeated this three times, and all at once, a small pillar of pyrite dust rose up from the jar to fling itself up against the missing letter “r” in  _ Gerys, _ forming in the empty space a new letter to match the rest of the sign. 

Shanker, watching from behind her, blinked twice, watching the currents of magic around Robin change.  _ That’s a deft touch with it and no mistake _ , he thought to himself;  _ not a mote going to waste. Very thrifty with what she’s got to hand _ .

Cormoran, watching from inside, could not see the new letter “r” or the magical currents. What he could see was Robin’s concentration, her determination, and her look of growing joy as it went according to her wishes.

“That was a bloody neat piece of work, Robin,” Shanker said. “Do the ‘s’ next, wouldja?”

“Sure,” she said, smiling over her shoulder. Giddy with her first success, she once more performed the hand motions, the chant, this time reaching further; and now the pyrite column rose up to split in two, filling in the “s” and the “o” in  _ Esoterica _ both at once.

Shanker tried to whistle, but his cat-mouth foiled him. He resorted to rubbing up against Robin’s ankles.

“You’re a fuckin’ marvel,” he purred. 

“Thank you, Shanker,” she said, laughing. 

Cormoran came out to see the progress, and did manage a whistle, which had Shanker glaring.

“Smartly done, Robin,” he said. She beamed at him, and he was once more reminded why she’d been known as The Pretty One until- was it really only yesterday?

“I think I can finish the missing letters today, and then perhaps tomorrow I’ll start refreshing the old letters so they match?” she offered.

“Yeah, brilliant,” Cormoran said. “When you’re done, come inside, lunch is on me.”

Robin’s mouth twisted, which he thought might be code for  _ I know you haven’t the money for things like treating to lunch.  _

“You’ve saved me a bundle with this, you’ve earned it,” he said. “And before you ask, Shanks, I’m not ordering you human food. You’ve still got some of your gift from yesterday.”

He went back in the store, ignoring Shanker’s offended reply. Through the window, he watched as Robin repeated her hand motions, and once more smiled at how pleased she was with her results. Maybe she would be their lucky charm.

_ Alright, Strike,  _ he told himself as he went to find the takeaway menus.  _ Don’t go putting the cart before the horse.  _ But he had hope, and that was unfamiliar enough to be novel. 

_ And it’s not even noon. What a mad day.  _

**Author's Note:**

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